Lost Years

 

By: Kenda

 

“Lost Years” is rated PG13 for the occasional use of strong language.  “Lost Years” is the 9^th story in the Dances With Rattlesnakes series.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Miles create a distance not easily crossed, but true friends will always be together in spirit.

 

Chapter 1

 

 

I wasn’t expecting the news the caller gave me.  But then I don’t suppose you’re ever expecting bad news when the phone rings in the middle of the day.  Calls delivering bad news seem to come late at night, or during the early morning hours before dawn.  You’re jarred from sleep, heart racing as you grope for the receiver, sure that someone you love has been in an accident or had a heart attack.

 

When the kids were teenagers and out with friends or on a date, Joanne and I hated it if the phone rang late at night. Like most parents, we immediately thought the worst. Once our sons and daughter were grown, I assumed our worries were over, but now that we have a teenaged granddaughter, and my mother is approaching her eighty-third birthday, the worries have started all over again during those rare times that the phone rings after ten at night or before seven in the morning.

 

Now you know why I wasn’t thinking a phone call at four o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon was anything to be alarmed about.  I’d arrived home twenty minutes earlier, after a day of teaching emergency medicine to my latest group of young men and women attempting to obtain their paramedic certification.  I’d picked up my granddaughter Libby on my way past the high school. 

 

Joanne and I have assisted our daughter Jennifer with raising Libby, ever since Jennifer and Dan Sheridan, Libby’s father, divorced when Libby was eight.  Libby’s fifteen now. I’ve overheard her say many times that I’ve been more of a father to her than a grandfather. Because Dan has been absent from her life for the most part, Libby’s right I suppose. 

 

I hadn’t planned to be a father figure to any of my grandchildren.  Being a grandpa who could spoil them rotten and then return them to their parents would have been fine with me.  But as I’ve learned in recent years, life is what happens when you’re making plans.  Libby’s little brother passed away at the age of six after a long and pain filled bout with cancer. Jennifer and Dan divorced seven months after Brandon’s death, the marriage strained beyond repair.

 

After that, Jennifer needed Joanne and I to help her with Libby. Jennifer’s an ER physician at Rampart, so long days and odd working hours are the norm for her. Since my work schedule provides me with more flexibility than Joanne’s provides her, I was the one who, in large part, took over the parenting role with Libby.  That hasn’t necessarily been a bad thing. Actually, a lot of rewards come with this, the most important being a close relationship with my oldest grandchild.  I’ve been involved in her life in a way I wasn’t involved in my own kids’ lives because of the overtime I worked to make ends meet in the days before Joanne had a job outside of the home.

 

Libby was in the room in our house we consider hers – our son Chris’s old bedroom, doing her homework.  I could hear the sound of the television too. When my kids were teenagers, Joanne and I didn’t allow TVs in their rooms, so the fact that we let Libby have one, and let her do her homework while watching it, reflects that I am her grandfather and not her father, and do spoil her at least a little bit.

 

The sun streamed through the patio doors.  It was a mild mid-January day, the temperature sixty-eight degrees.  I slid one of the doors open to let fresh air in through the screen.  I’d just walked into the kitchen and started opening cabinets so I could decide what to make for supper, when the phone rang. As I hurried around the breakfast bar to grab the receiver, I hoped it was Joanne calling from work with some suggestions for supper, or to say she’d pick up a pizza on her way home.

 

I sat on a stool as I snatched the portable receiver from its base. 

 

“Hello?”

 

A female voice that seemed vaguely familiar, yet that I couldn’t immediately identify, asked, “Is this Roy?”

 

My tone turned from friendly to wary.  I was certain I was about to be pestered by a telemarketer.

 

“Uh…yes, it is.”

 

“Roy, this is Clarice Mjtko.”

 

 My response was delayed long enough for Clarice to decide I needed further explanation, though actually I didn’t.

 

“I work for John...Johnny.”  She hastily tagged on the nickname John Gage’s friends in Los Angeles know him by, but that no one in Eagle Harbor, Alaska ever uses.

 

“Sure, Clarice.  I’m sorry. You caught me off-guard. I wasn’t expecting to pick up the phone and hear your voice.”

 

“No. No, I suppose you weren’t.”

 

Her tone – a combination of worry, upset, and dread, as though she needed to give me news she wished she didn’t have to convey – caused me to question, “Clarice, is everything okay?  Johnny...Trevor...”

 

“Trevor’s fine,” Clarice assured me regarding Johnny’s thirteen year old son. 

 

An uncomfortable silence filled the phone line. Or at least uncomfortable for me. I’d already surmised that, whatever the reason behind Clarice’s call, it wasn’t good. After all, why would Johnny’s housekeeper, a woman I’d been around briefly only a few times in the past six years, call me unless there was some kind of problem?

 

“What is it, Clarice?  What’s wrong?”

 

“Roy...Roy, John’s in intensive care at the hospital in Juneau.”

 

It took me a moment to find my voice.  I sat forward on the stool as though I was ready to take action of some sort.  Years of working in emergency medicine had me reaching for the pad of paper and pen we keep propped in a holder by the phone. 

 

I held the pen over the paper, ready to write down everything Clarice said.

 

“What happened?”

 

“He collapsed at the station yesterday afternoon.”

 

“Collapsed?”

 

“It…it was an aneurysm, Roy. A brain aneurysm.”

 

The fact that she’d said “it was an aneurysm” led me to conclude the blood vessel involved had ruptured, as opposed to Johnny having symptoms like a severe headache or double vision, that sent him to the hospital prior to this reaching a crisis level.

 

I asked the question I already knew the answer to.  “It burst?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Because Clarice was less than ten years younger than my mother and a woman to boot, I didn’t say what I was thinking.

 

Shit. Oh shit, Johnny. Why?  Why?

 

I had a feeling I already knew the answer to my, “Why?” Johnny’s mother died from a ruptured cerebral aneurysm when he was twenty-one.  Johnny had found her in the barn on his parents’ ranch.  She was already dead, and probably had been for a couple of hours.  Though aneurysms can result for several reasons, heredity plays a large factor in whether or not a person might have what doctors consider to be a congenital malformation of a blood vessel.  I knew these malformations could be present since birth - a kind of internal ticking time bomb that can go off with little warning, or might never go off at all. 

 

“How is he? What’s his condition?”

 

“As of a few hours ago, the neurologist was saying ‘guarded but stable,’ whatever that means.”

 

“It means not terrific, but could be a lot worse.”

 

“That’s what Carl and I took it to mean.”

 

Carl is Clarice’s son, a good friend of Johnny’s, and Eagle Harbor’s police chief, while Johnny’s the town’s fire and paramedic chief. 

 

“Have you called Johnny’s father?”

 

“I got a hold of him last night.  Chad and Marietta should be arriving in Juneau within the hour. Carl and Trevor are there now, waiting to pick them up at the airport. They’ll take them to the hospital for a little while, then bring them here.”

 

“And Reah?” I inquired of Johnny’s sister, who worked as a midwife in Newfoundland.

 

“Chad said he’d try and reach her.  That’s all I know right now.”

 

Clarice and I talked another ten minutes.  I got all the details, writing everything down so I could accurately relay the information to Jennifer.

 

I’ll be the first to admit that I’d pictured a more traditional role for my daughter of wife, mother, and maybe part time bookkeeper or grocery store clerk, back when she was a little girl.  But there are many times when it comes in handy to have a doctor in the family, and years ago I’d been forced to set aside what Joanne jokingly refers to as my “old-fashioned notions” when it comes to a woman’s role in society.  I knew that after identifying herself as Doctor DeSoto to the Juneau hospital staff, Jennifer would be able to obtain a lot more information about Johnny’s condition than I would.

 

I was vaguely aware of Libby entering the room and opening the refrigerator to rummage inside for an after-school snack. With my eyes on Libby’s back, I wrote down the hospital’s phone number and the name of the neurosurgeon treating Johnny. 

 

“Thanks, Clarice.  I appreciate the information.  I’ll talk to Jennifer just as soon as I can reach her. She’ll be able to find out more from the nurses than I can.  Maybe she’ll even be able to talk to Doctor Webber.”

 

“You’re welcome. I’m just sorry I had to call with this kind of news.”

 

“Believe me, I’m sorry too. I’ll keep in close touch.  In the meantime, please call me if anything changes for the...the worst.  I don’t care what time of the day or night it is.  Can I give you my number at the station?”

 

“Sure. Just a second.  Let me get a pen and paper.”

 

When Clarice told me she was ready, I rattled off the phone number of Station 51, which was now the paramedic-training center I worked out of for the L.A. County Fire Department.

 

“I’m usually there by quarter to eight, and home by four. If you call while a class is in session an answering machine’ll pick up. Leave a message. I’ll get it as soon as we take a break.”

 

“All right.”

 

“Better yet, here’s my cell phone number.”

 

Although I don’t usually have my cell phone turned on while I’m teaching since I don’t allow my students to have their cell phones turned on during class time, I decided rank has its privileges. If Johnny’s condition went downhill, I wanted to know as soon as possible.

 

“Don’t hesitate to call that number if you can’t reach me any other way.  I’ll keep the phone on until I know he’s outta the woods.”

 

“Okay,” Clarice said. “Hopefully...well, we’re all praying that things only improve from here on out.”

 

“We’ll be praying for the same.” I caught Libby’s puzzled look as she turned from the refrigerator with an orange in her right hand. “Please tell Trevor that my family and I are thinking of him, and let Chad know you called me.”

 

“I will.”

 

“And Johnny...let him know, too, please. Tell him that as soon as his doctor lets him take phone calls, I’ll be the first one on the other end of the line.”

 

“I don’t think he’ll understand me if I tell him now, but as soon as things are...better, I’ll do that.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome. If you don’t hear from me, then assume no news is good news.”

 

“Okay. In-between that assumption, I’ll be checking in with you if you don’t mind.”

 

“No, not at all. You’ll probably be able to reach me here – I’m at John’s house. But I’ll give you my home phone number and the number that rings in Carl’s office at the station.  You can call him if you can’t get in touch with me.”

 

I wrote down the two numbers Clarice gave me, told her, “Thanks again for calling,” and then said a reluctant goodbye, as though if I could just keep a connection open between myself and someone in Eagle Harbor, I’d know the second anything changed for Johnny, be it good or bad.

 

I didn’t have the receiver back in its base before Libby questioned, “What’s wrong?  What happened to Uncle Johnny?”

 

I barely registered her question as I stared at the notes I’d made. 

 

“Grandpa? Grandpa, are you okay?”

 

When I looked up, Libby was standing across from me on the other side of the Formica counter top.  She’d set her orange down as though she’d suddenly lost interest in eating.

 

I offered her the best smile I could manage.

 

“Yeah, button, I’m fine.”

 

Libby smiled at the nickname I hadn’t used in several years now, but then just as quickly as her smile appeared it was gone.

 

“Something’s happened to Uncle Johnny hasn’t it.” 

 

I gave a slow, pensive nod.  “Yeah...yeah, something’s happened to him.”

 

“It must be bad. You look upset and worried.”

 

If Libby had been a few years younger, I doubt I would have acknowledged any of my emotional vulnerabilities to her.  I’d been raised in an era when a man was nothing less than strong for his family one hundred percent of the time, and when boys were still encouraged to hide their feelings.  But considering Libby was no longer a child, it would have been foolish for me to deny the obvious. And besides, if Brandon’s illness taught me one thing of value, it’s that life’s short and unpredictable, and expressing feelings doesn’t make me less of a man.  Still, years of conditioning made me hesitate a moment before giving Libby an honest answer.

“Well...yeah...yeah, I am upset and worried.  It’s serious, honey.  Very serious.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“An aneurysm ruptured in his brain.”

 

“What’s an aneurysm?”

 

“It’s an abnormal widening of a blood vessel.”

 

“What makes it rupture?”

 

I thought a moment so I could explain it without a lot of medical jargon that would mean nothing to her.

 

“Think of the vessel like a bike tire that’s been filled with too much air.  When it finally bursts, blood floods the area surrounding it.”

 

“What causes it?”

 

“An aneurysm?”

 

“Yeah.  How come this happened to Uncle Johnny?”

 

“There’re several things that can cause an aneurysm. Chronic high blood pressure or a head injury are two common reasons.   But I don’t think either of those things apply in Uncle Johnny’s case.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because Uncle Johnny doesn’t have high blood pressure as far as I know, and Clarice didn’t mention any recent head injury that he’d suffered. Some people are vulnerable to aneurysms because of heredity.  Uncle Johnny’s mother died from a brain aneurysm a long time ago. When Johnny was twenty-one.”

 

Libby chewed her lower lip while absorbing what my words might mean.

 

“Could...could Uncle Johnny die?”

 

“Yes,” I nodded slowly.  “Yes, he could.  But let’s hope for the best, okay?”

 

Libby struggled to return the smile I gave her.

 

“O...okay. Sure. You know I will.”

 

“I know.”

 

“If Uncle Johnny gets better will he be okay?”

 

“You mean as healthy and active as he’s always been?”

“Uh huh.  The way you described this, with bleeding in the brain and all, it kind of sounds like a stroke.”

 

Al Sheridan, Libby’s paternal grandfather, suffered a stroke two years ago, so she has some knowledge of the long- term physical effects a stroke victim can suffer.

 

“In essence, that’s what it is.”

 

“So will Uncle Johnny have problems walking and picking up things like Grandpa Sheridan does?  He can’t write any more, you know. And it’s even hard for him to change T.V. channels with the remote.”

 

I nodded.  Aside from being left with permanent disabilities on the right side of his body, Al had also lost a good deal of his fine motor skills because of the stroke.

 

“I’m not sure what problems Uncle Johnny might or might not have.  Some patients who’ve suffered from a ruptured aneurysm will go on to make a full recovery with no side effects at all.  Others may have some minor problems, but those problems won’t prevent them from returning to their jobs or leading an active life.  Then, in some cases...” I paused, let out a sigh that broadcast my concern for Johnny, and finished by saying, “in some cases, the patient is left permanently disabled.”

 

“Like Grandpa Sheridan?”

 

I nodded. “Like your grandpa Sheridan.”

 

Libby’s eyes filled with tears. “But that’s not fair. Uncle Johnny...he’s so...he acts so young, and he still does stuff like jog, and bowl, and ride his mountain bike on the trails with Trevor, and takes care of his horses.  I don’t mean that it was fair when it happened to Grandpa Sheridan, but he’s really old, and he never took good care of himself. Grandma Sheridan says that all the time.  He smoked, and ate all the wrong foods, and he didn’t exercise, and he wouldn’t take his high blood pressure pills, and all kinds of things he should have been doing he wasn’t, and the things he shouldn’t have been doing he was.”

 

I smiled a little at my granddaughter’s words. It’s funny how our perceptions of people can be so different simply based on their personalities and lifestyles.  Al is only twelve years older than Johnny, which makes him seventy-one.  Libby made it sound like her Grandpa Sheridan was ninety-eight, and Johnny all of twenty-eight.  But she was right.  Al never led a particularly healthy or active lifestyle, and from what I knew, had been content to sit around and watch television for most of the day after he retired.  By far, John Gage’s lifestyle was as opposite of Al Sheridan’s as it could be.

 

“I don’t think it’s fair either, sweetheart, but unfortunately, there’s not always anything we can do to avoid health problems that come our way because of heredity.”

 

“When will the doctors know if Uncle Johnny’s gonna make a full recovery, or have problems walking, or writing, or remembering things?”

 

“I don’t know. He had surgery this morning to clip the ruptured aneurysm.”

 

“What will that do?”

 

“Reduce the risk of further bleeding.”

 

“Oh.”  Libby thought a moment. “It doesn’t sound like much of a cure.”

 

“It’s not a cure, more of a preventative measure.  Doctors have had good luck with the procedure, so hopefully, it will work well for Uncle Johnny.”

 

“So could this happen again?”

 

“It could, but the doctors’ll do all they can to prevent it.  Clarice told me Uncle Johnny will undergo an MRI when he’s a little stronger. After that’s done, his neurologist will know if he has any other aneurysms that could rupture in the future.”

 

“And if he does?”

 

“Then they’ll do surgery in an attempt to prevent that. There’re several methods neurologists use now days to plug the weakened vessel so it won’t burst.”

 

“Is it dangerous?”

 

“Surgery’s always dangerous to some extent, and given what Uncle Johnny’s already been through...yes, it could be dangerous, but let’s not cross that bridge until we come to it, okay?”

Her “Okay,” was half-hearted and quiet.  When you’re fifteen, you want absolutes. By the time you reach my age, you’ve learned life holds few of those.

 

Again, I tried to be encouraging by offering Libby what positives I could.

 

“A lot of people die from ruptured aneurysms before they ever reach the hospital, Libs. Uncle Johnny had luck on his side because he collapsed at the station yesterday afternoon while he was conducting a meeting. He was surrounded by dozens of paramedics and EMTs, which means he got the kind of immediate treatment he needed.  It would have been very important to get his blood pressure down, which I’m sure they did as soon as they took his vitals.”

 

“Did Uncle Johnny know what was happening?”

 

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I doubt it. Carl was in the station when it happened. He told Clarice that Johnny doubled over, grabbed his head, and managed to say he had a bad headache right before he lost consciousness and collapsed.”

 

“He must...it must have hurt him a lot.”

 

“I’m sure it did, but he may never remember the actual episode, so don’t let that upset you.”

 

“It upsets you.”

 

I smiled at how well my granddaughter could read me.

 

“You’re right, it does. I guess it’s only natural for us to be upset when we hear that a good friend was in pain.”

 

“Is Trevor okay?”

“I’m sure he’s worried, if that’s what you’re asking. But Clarice and Carl will take good care of him, and his Grandpa Gage is due in Juneau in a little while, so that’ll be good for Trev, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. He’s pretty close to his grandpa.”

“I imagine he is,” I acknowledged.

 

Trevor is Chad’s only grandchild, and though they don’t see one another more than a couple of times a year because Chad lives in Montana, I knew, based on things Johnny’s told me, that Chad and Trevor have the type of relationship every boy should be lucky enough to have with his grandpa.

 

Libby grabbed her orange and put it back in the refrigerator.

 

“Aren’t you gonna eat that?”

 

She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.  I’m gonna send Trevor an e-mail to let him know I’m thinking about him.”

 

“That’s nice. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

 

“And maybe I can call him later tonight, if that’s okay with you.”

 

“That’s fine with me. I’m going to call your mom right now, but later this evening we’ll place a call to Alaska so all of us can let Trevor know he’s in our thoughts.”

 

Libby walked around the snack bar and hugged me. I put my arms around her and held on a moment, touched by her concern for her old grandpa. She kissed my left cheek and said, “I love you,” then headed to the bedroom that used to belong to our youngest son, John, that now houses a computer.

 

After Libby left, I picked up the receiver and punched in the number for the nurses’ desk at Rampart’s emergency room.  I didn’t know the woman who answered the phone, but in order to avoid any delays I identified myself as Doctor DeSoto’s father and said I needed to speak with her if she wasn’t with a patient.

 

“Just a minute, Mr. DeSoto. Let me see if I can locate her.”

 

I watched five minutes pass on the kitchen clock before I heard Jennifer’s “Hi, Dad. What’s up?”

 

“Hi, Jen. Listen, I just got a call from Clarice.”

 

There was a pause, then, “Clarice? Uncle Johnny’s housekeeper Clarice, you mean?”

 

“That’s who I mean.”

 

“Why would she be calling you?”

 

“Johnny’s in a hospital in Juneau.” I glanced at my notes.  “Bartlett Regional is the name of it.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“A cerebral aneurysm burst yesterday afternoon while he was at work.”

 

I barely heard my daughter’s soft, “Oh no.”

 

Jennifer’s had Johnny wrapped around her little finger since the first day they met when she was three.  That was over thirty years ago, and even yet, they’re close in the way an uncle and his favorite niece might be.

 

When Jennifer spoke again her voice was stronger and the physician in her came through clearly.  “Tell me all you know.”

 

I glanced at my notes, reciting everything Clarice had said.  I could tell by the way Jennifer responded that she was writing down the name of Johnny’s neurologist and the phone number of the hospital.

 

“I’ll call and see what I can find out.  As soon as I know something, I’ll call you back.”

 

“Thanks, Jenny. I would have called up there myself, but I figured you’d be able to get more information.”

 

“I’ll do my best.”

 

“I know you will, sweetheart.”

 

“Hang in there, Daddy. I know you’re worried about him, but if nothing else, Uncle Johnny got immediate treatment.  If he’d been home alone when this happened...”

 

Jennifer didn’t finish her sentence, but I didn’t need her to.  If Johnny had been by himself when the aneurysm burst, then like his mother, he’d have probably been found dead hours later by his son.

 

I thanked my daughter again and told her goodbye.  Although I was anxious to hear back from her, I knew there was no point in sitting by the phone. If trauma patients came into the ER that she was assigned to treat, it could be several hours before she’d be able to call Bartlett Hospital. Or if Johnny’s doctor wasn’t available when Jennifer called, then again, several hours could pass before she’d have information for me.

 

I got up and walked around the counter, resuming the search for something to make for supper.  Like Libby, I’d lost my appetite. After pulling open cabinets for ten minutes and staring at everything from canned vegetables, to boxes of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, to jars of spaghetti sauce, I pulled out two cans of tuna fish and two cans of Campbell’s chicken and rice soup.  While the soup warmed on the stove, I chopped celery and diced onions for the tuna.  I dumped everything into a mixing bowl, added two tablespoons of Miracle Whip along with some seasonings, and stirred it all together.  I took a loaf of wheat bread out of the breadbox and then set the table. When Joanne walked in the door at twenty minutes to six, supper was ready.

 

“What?” my wife teased as she set her purse on the counter and caught sight of the soup simmering. “I slave all day to bring home a paycheck, and all I get in return is cold sandwiches and canned soup.”

 

I kissed her cheek. “Now you know what a crummy job bringing home a paycheck is.”

 

“Especially when I have to eat tuna and soup.”

 

“Sorry,” I apologized for the supper, though I knew Joanne was only kidding. “I was on the phone quite a while, so time was running short when I finally got around to cooking.”        

 

“Don’t worry about it.  You never complained when time ran short on me back in the days when I was chasing after little kids all day and we ate grilled cheese, so I’d better return the favor, huh?”

 

Joanne wrapped her arms around my waist, which is a bit wider than it was back in the days when we ate grilled cheese for supper on occasion, and kissed my mouth.

 

“Guess you’d better,” I agreed, while kissing in her return.

 

Jo slid out of my grasp and stood leafing through the mail I’d left lying next to the toaster.

 

“What had you tied up on the phone? Paramedic business?”

 

“I was talking to Clarice.”

 

“Oh. Were you trying to get a hold of Johnny?”

 

“No. She called to tell me Johnny’s in the hospital.”

 

Joanne immediately lost interest in the mail and turned to face me. “Why? What happened?”

 

I told her the same things I’d told Libby and Jennifer, ending with, “Jennifer’s going to call the hospital and try to get in touch with Johnny’s doctor.  After that, I hope to know.”

 

Joanne shot me a small, teasing smile. “It’s good to have a doctor in the family, rather than a bookkeeper, isn’t it?”

 

“At this moment, yeah, it is,” I teased back.

 

“And Trevor?  Did Clarice say how he’s handling this?”

 

“I guess he’s doin’ okay. When she called, he was with Carl. They’d gone to pick up Chad and Marietta from the airport in Juneau.”

 

“Good,” Joanne nodded. “It’s good that Chad’ll be there.  Trevor will need him.”

 

“Yeah,” I agreed. “He will.” 

 

Trevor was in the eighth grade, and at the age where a boy needs a man in his life for guidance and discipline. At a time like this, when things would be stressful and uncertain for Trevor, I thought it was important for a father figure to be present in the house. That might be another of my “old-fashioned notions” given how many kids today are raised without a father and how many people think nothing of that, but it’s a notion I’m clinging to.

 

“Libby sent Trev an e-mail to let him know we’re thinking of him.  She also asked if she could call and talk to him later tonight.”

 

“Good idea. We’ll all talk to him.”

 

“That’s what I told her.”

 

Joanne laid her head on my shoulder.  “Don’t worry,” she said softly. “Johnny’s got too much to live for, and is just too damn stubborn, not to fight his way back to health.”

 

I stroked a hand through her hair while staring at the far wall. “I wish it were that easy, Jo. But when there’s been bleeding in the brain, it’s hard to predict what the future holds for him.”

 

My wife hugged me tighter, kissed the corner of my mouth, gave my chest a gentle pat, and then went to change her clothes and tell Libby to wash up for supper.

 

The three of us were quiet throughout dinner. No one complained about the meal that was more like lunch than supper. We’d just finished eating when the phone rang. The three of us were still seated at the table.  Neither Joanne nor Libby rose to answer the call, both assuming, I suppose, that I wanted to answer it.

 

For a change, it wasn’t one of Libby’s friends, but instead, Jennifer.  She’d been able to speak with Johnny’s neurologist, though the information she gave me didn’t differ much from what Clarice had said.  That indicated to me that Doctor Webber believed in keeping family and close friends as informed as possible regarding a patient’s condition.

 

“If Uncle Johnny remains stable,” Jennifer said, “then in the next day or two the MRI will be done. If it reveals further aneurysms, surgery will be performed when Doctor Webber feels Johnny’s strong enough to undergo it.”

 

“What about long-term disabilities?”

 

“That remains an uncertainty at this point. Bruce - Doctor Webber, said there may be some speech impairment, and there appears to be some weakness on Uncle Johnny’s left side.”

 

“How much weakness?”

 

“It’s too early to tell, Dad. It’ll be a couple of days before that can be determined.  For the next forty-eight hours the main concern will be keeping Uncle Johnny quiet and calm so he can get the rest he needs in order to recover from everything he’s been through.”

 

I gave a heavy sigh that voiced my frustration at the situation, then said, “Thanks for all you’ve done, sweetheart.”

 

“I haven’t done much, but Doctor Webber did say I was welcome to contact him at any time, so at least we can go right to the top when need be.”

 

“Just knowing that helps. Thanks again, Jenny. I know this took time out of a schedule that’s already overloaded.”

 

I could tell my daughter was smiling. “For my dad, anything, no matter how full my schedule is.  And for Uncle Johnny, anything too.”

 

I smiled at the places of importance Johnny and I still held in my daughter’s life, and then asked, “You wanna talk to Libby before we hang up?”

 

“Sure.”

 

I gave the receiver to Libby. While she talked to her mother, who was on duty until seven the next morning, Joanne and I cleared the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher.  From the one-sided conversation I could hear, I determined Jennifer was asking Libby about her day in school, questioning her about how much homework she had left to do, and then telling Libby that she’d see her the next day after school.

 

When Libby had said goodbye to her mother and put the receiver back in its base, she paused before heading to her room.

 

“Let me know when you’re going to call Trevor, okay?”

 

I glanced at the clock.  It was quarter to seven. Eagle Harbor was an hour behind us.

 

“I will. Clarice said Carl was taking Chad and Marietta to visit Johnny for a little while before heading to Eagle Harbor. We’ll call around nine our time. By then, they should have had a chance to settle in and eat supper.”

 

“All right. I’ll get my homework done so I can talk to Trevor for a little while.”

 

“Good idea.”

 

After Libby walked away, Joanne asked me if I was going to call Chris and give him the news.

 

“I will in a minute. What about John?”

 

Our youngest child was named in honor of John Gage. He, his wife Shawna, and their three little girls live in Wyoming, where John and Shawna are forest rangers at Yellowstone National Park.

 

“I’ll e-mail him while you’re on the phone with Chris.”

 

Joanne went to the computer room and I called Chris.  I was on the phone with my oldest son for twenty minutes.  Just as with Jennifer, John Gage had been a big part of Chris’s life throughout his growing up years. The news about Johnny upset Chris, but he was positive for my sake.

 

“He’ll come through this just fine, Dad.  Uncle Johnny’s got a lot of determination, not to mention he’s tough as nails.  Tougher actually.  He’ll be okay.”

 

I didn’t bother to tell Chris what I’d told Joanne – that when a person has suffered hemorrhaging in the brain, it makes little difference how much determination he has, or how much toughness he possesses.  By now, I was feeling the effects of what was turning out to be a long stressful day.  So I said simply, “I know,” to my oldest child, told him to say hi to his wife and daughters for me, promised to call him with an update on Johnny’s condition the next day, and said goodbye.

 

Joanne had finished her e-mail to John long before I was off the phone with Chris.  I joined her in the living room.

 

I sat in my recliner trying to concentrate on a TV show, while Joanne sat in her recliner reading the newspaper, but my mind remained on Johnny.  Even if I had been able to lose myself in the television, Libby wouldn’t have let nine o’clock come and go without telling me.  She was at my side five minutes before the hour.

 

“Can we call Trevor now?”

 

I aimed the remote control at the TV, shut it off, and looked up at my granddaughter.  “Is your homework finished?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Okay, we can call.”

 

I set the remote on the end table, then got out of my chair and headed for the kitchen. Joanne went to our bedroom so she could pick up the phone in there.  Libby sat on the stool next to me at the snack bar as I placed the call.

 

It didn’t surprise me when Clarice answered the phone.  I assumed she’d take it upon herself to stay at Johnny’s house with Trevor even with Chad and Marietta there.  Carl was there as well. They’d just finished eating supper.

 

After I’d said hello and then Joanne had said hello, I once again got a report on Johnny that didn’t differ from what I already knew. 

 

“Chad’s not sure if John knew who he was,” Clarice said, “but he’s sedated right now, so I guess that’s normal, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes, that’s normal,” I assured the woman.  “Jennifer spoke with Doctor Webber. It sounds like he wants Johnny to have plenty of rest, so it might be a few days before he’s very coherent.”

 

“Would you like to talk to Chad? He might be able to tell you more since he just saw John a couple of hours ago.”

 

“Sure.”

 

I hadn’t spoken to Johnny’s father in over twenty years.  I wasn’t sure if he knew the reason behind the estrangement that marred my friendship with Johnny from July of 1985 until July of 2000, but if he did, I couldn’t detect any animosity in his tone. 

 

It was good to hear Chad’s voice.  Though he’s not nearly as talkative and outgoing as Johnny, he and Johnny look alike, and sound enough alike that if I didn’t know I was talking to Chad, I would have thought it was Johnny on the other end of the line. 

 

After Chad and I had exchanged hellos and voiced pleasure over talking to one another again after so many years, and then Joanne had told him hello, therefore making him aware she was on the line too, I asked, “How was Johnny when you saw him?”

 

I could immediately tell Chad was being careful about what he said, which led me to believe that Trevor was sitting as close to him as Libby was sitting to me. 

 

“I probably can’t tell you anything you don’t already know, Roy.  John was pretty out of it when Marietta and I saw him.  Maybe in a few days he’ll be more alert.”

 

“I think he will be.”

 

“He’ll come through this just fine.”

 

I could hear the false note of optimism in Chad’s voice.  I knew he was being strong for Trevor’s sake, but that as well, memories of how Johnny’s mother died had to be at the forefront of his mind.

 

“Yeah, he will,” I agreed, for lack of anything else to say that Chad didn’t already know about the range of consequences a cerebral hemorrhage could cause. “I told Clarice I’d stay in close touch until we know Johnny’s on his way to making a full recovery.”

 

“Thanks. That’ll mean a lot to John. I’ll make sure I tell him just as soon as he’s more alert.”

 

“Great. I appreciate it.”

 

I glanced at my granddaughter when she tugged on my shirtsleeve and whispered, “Trevor?”

 

“Chad, is Trevor there?  Joanne and I wanna say hi to him, and then my granddaughter wants to talk to him for a few minutes.”

 

“Sure, he’s right here. Thanks for calling, Roy.  Like I said, it’ll mean a lot to John to know you’re concerned.”

 

“I couldn’t be less than concerned at a time like this.”

 

“I know. Thanks again. Talk to ya’ later.”

 

Before I could respond, Trevor’s voice came over the line.

 

“Uncle Roy?”

 

“Hey, Trev, how’re you doin’?”

 

“O...okay. It’s kinda...it’s kinda scary, ya’ know.”

 

“I know, son.  You hang in there, though. That’s what your papa would want you to do.”

 

“I will.”

 

Joanne said hello to Trevor next, then offered him the type of maternal encouragement he needed at that moment.  When she was done, we both told the boy goodbye and I turned the phone over to Libby.

 

“Talk as long as you want to,” I said to my granddaughter.  This was one night when I didn’t care how high the phone bill ran.  

 

Joanne hung up the bedroom phone and returned to the living room while Libby and Trevor talked.  Fifteen minutes later, Libby handed the phone back to me.  I told Trevor goodnight and asked him if I could speak to Clarice again.  When the woman came on the line, I thanked her once again for notifying me of Johnny’s illness, then told her I’d call the next evening if she didn’t have reason to call me before then.

 

“Let’s put it this way, Roy. I hope I don’t have reason to call you.”

 

“I hope you don’t either, Clarice,” I agreed. “I hope you don’t either.”

 

After I’d said goodbye and hung up the phone, Libby, Joanne, and I sat at the dining room table eating grapefruits. 

 

“How’s Trevor doing?” Joanne asked our granddaughter.

 

Libby shrugged. “I don’t really know.  He didn’t say much about Uncle Johnny, but I can tell he’s really worried. He mostly wanted to talk about school and stuff in general, so that’s what I did.” Libby looked to me for guidance. “Maybe I should have tried to get him to talk about Uncle Johnny more, huh?”

 

“No, I don’t think so. If Trevor wanted to talk about school, then talking about school was fine.  The past twenty-four hours have probably been scary for him. Sometimes talking to a friend about things that seem trivial is just what a person needs when he’s worried.”

 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I figured when Trev’s ready to talk about Uncle Johnny he’ll let me know.”

 

I nodded. “He will.”

 

When we’d finished our snack, Libby said goodnight and went to bed.  Joanne and I went to bed a half hour after our granddaughter. Because we hadn’t discussed anything but Johnny since Joanne arrived home, we talked softly for a little while about her day at the bank and my day teaching as she lay with her head on my chest.  After our conversation wound down, Jo rolled over and drifted off to sleep.

 

I tried to sleep too, but it didn’t surprise me that I was plagued by insomnia.  I tossed and turned for an hour. When it reached a point where I was afraid my restless movements would wake Jo, I eased out from under the covers, grabbed my robe from the foot of the bed, shoved my feet into my slippers, and quietly exited our room.

 

The house was dark except for the nightlight we leave on in the dining area. I shuffled into the living room and sat in my recliner. I pulled the footrest up, thinking if I got comfortable I might fall asleep.

 

I didn’t bother to turn on a light, nor did I turn on the television. I leaned the chair back a little bit and rested against its thick cushioning. I stared up the ceiling, thirty-four years worth of memories racing through my mind.

 

Good times and good memories far out number bad times and bad memories when it comes to my friendship with John Gage.  For some reason though, on that night, it was memories of the bad times that kept seeping through.  I don’t know, maybe it was unresolved guilt on my part. Or maybe it had to do with those fifteen years in Johnny’s life - 1985 to 2000; that were still a mystery to me, as much as those fifteen years in my life were a mystery to him.  Of course, each of us was aware of the obvious changes time had brought – the birth of Trevor, the marriages of my children and births of my grandchildren, Johnny’s move to Alaska and his position as Fire and Paramedic Chief in Eagle Harbor, my rise to Battalion Chief with L.A. County, and then my eventual choice to accept the position of Chief Paramedic Instructor years after I’d thought I’d left the paramedic field for good.  But it was the day-to-day connection that often makes a friendship continue to grow that Johnny and I had lost out on during the years I’d refused to acknowledge I’d ever known the man, let alone had considered him my best friend.

 

I sat there hoping that Johnny, while lying in a hospital bed in Juneau, wasn’t plagued by bad memories too, as I thought back to the night Chris lost the use of his legs. Ironically enough, it started with a phone call that brought me bad news, and ended with me declaring that I never wanted to hear John Gage’s name spoken in my house again.

 

 

Chapter 2

 

 

Roy’s heart kicked into high gear before his eyes even opened.  The shrill ring of the phone on his nightstand jolted him from sleep. Joanne stirred beside him murmuring, “Who could that be?” as Roy struggled to his right elbow and groped for the receiver. 

 

“Better not be a prank call,” Roy mumbled in return, squinting at the bright red numbers on the clock radio.  Four thirty-five a.m.  It was Roy’s day off. Waking up prior to seven-thirty hadn’t been a part of his plans.

 

Roy’s voice was hoarse with sleep. “Lo?”

 

A feminine voice inquired, “Roy?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“It’s Dixie.”

 

Immediately Roy knew something was wrong.  The remnants of sleep faded as fear-induced adrenaline kicked in.

 

“Chris and Johnny have been involved in a shooting. You need to get down here as soon as possible.”

Roy wasn't sure where he found the voice to question, “Dix?” At that moment, he had no idea if it was his son who was injured, or his best friend, or both of them. All he knew was that no matter the scenario, he was terrified at what the woman might say next.

          “It's Chris, Roy. It's...it's serious. You and Joanne need to be here.”

 

Roy didn’t waste time asking Dixie what was wrong.  His words were quick and succinct.

 

“We’ll leave in a few minutes.”

 

The man hung up without waiting for Dixie’s response.  He heard Joanne’s, “Roy?” but didn’t turn to look at her as he threw the covers back and catapulted from the bed.

 

“It’s Chris. He’s at Rampart.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“I don’t know.”  Roy yanked clothes from dresser drawers.  “We need to leave.”

 

Joanne didn’t ask her husband if Chris’s condition was serious.  She could tell by Roy’s urgency that it was.

 

While Roy used the master bathroom, Joanne rushed to the bathroom in the hallway with clean clothes in her arms.

 

By Roy’s watch, it was seven minutes later when he and his wife met in the hall.  The commotion of feet scurrying across the floor, doors opening and closing, toilets flushing, and water running in the sinks woke Jennifer.  The sixteen-year-old opened her bedroom door and poked her tousled head out.  Her face broadcast her confusion at finding her parents dressed, and her mother carrying her purse, at quarter to five in the morning.

 

“Mom? Dad?  What’s wrong? Where’re you--”

 

“Chris has been hurt,” Roy said as he rushed past the girl. “Your mother and I’re headed to Rampart. You stay here with John.”

            Jennifer trailed her parents down the hall, asking questions she received no answers to. She hurried to follow them through the dining room, kitchen, laundry room, and into the garage. She ignored the chill of the concrete on her bare feet.

 

“But who called you?  How do you know Chris is hurt?  Was he at a fire? 

Was--”

 

Joanne turned and gave her daughter’s hand a squeeze as she slid into the car.  “Just do as Daddy asked and stay with John. We'll call you as soon as we know anything.”

 

“But--”

 

Jennifer’s final attempt at asking another question was cut off by the sound of the Impala’s engine.

 

Joanne’s last glimpse of Jennifer was of the girl standing in the garage watching the car back onto the street. The normally fearless teenager appeared to be as frightened as Joanne felt.

 

Joanne didn’t like seeing her daughter look so young and vulnerable.  On this morning when she and Roy were rushing to the hospital, it was a poignant reminder that there are so many things in life a mother can’t protect her children from, no matter how much that mother might want to.

 

Chapter 3

 

Roy hung onto Joanne’s hand as they ran through the desolate emergency room corridor.  Whether Dixie heard their pounding foot falls, or whether she was watching for them, Roy wasn’t certain.  She stood on the patient side of the nurses’ counter, hurrying to meet the worried parents.

 

“Dix, where is he? Where’s Chris?”

 

“In surgery.”

“Surgery?” Joanne questioned, while her eyes darted around the waiting area. It was devoid of firemen, police officers, or any type of activity that would indicate to the mother that her son had been hurt at a fire, or at the scene of an accident.  It was also devoid of John Gage, which Joanne found odd, because if Johnny wasn’t injured, he’d be here waiting to meet them.  “What happened, Dixie? Why’s Chris in surgery? Where’s Johnny? Was he hurt too?”

 

Dixie guided the couple away from the waiting area where a young couple sat who had brought their twelve-month old son in an hour earlier because of a high fever and chronic cough.  The nurse pressed the number 2 button on the elevator panel with her right thumb.

 

“Johnny’s in a conference room with the police.”

 

“The police?” Roy put an arm around Joanne’s shoulders as Dixie ushered them inside the elevator. “Why? What’s going on?”

 

“Johnny and Chris were toned out about two this morning on an unknown rescue. I was the one at the base station when Johnny called in.”

 

“And?”

 

Dixie closed her eyes a brief moment. She wasn’t sure if she was up to reliving those early morning hours when she and Kelly Brackett knew Johnny and Chris were pinned down by a gunman, Chris shot, and Johnny doing all he could to keep the young man alive while bullets pinged off the squad.  Dixie could still hear the sounds coming over the open bio-phone line.  One second, Johnny would be assuring Chris that he was going to all right, and the next second glass would shatter, or a tire would blow out, or there’d be a heavy “thunk” as a bullet buried itself in one of the squad’s compartments.

 

“Dix?” the impatient father questioned. “Dixie, come on. Tell us what happened.”

 

Dixie opened her eyes. She chased away the images she’d been forced to imagine since she was only able to hear what was going on.

 

“The man at the house Johnny and Chris were called to had a gun.  From what little I know, as soon as they got out of the squad he opened fire. Chris was shot in the back.”

 

Joanne’s hand flew to her mouth. That action didn’t stop an anguished, “Oh no,” from escaping.

 

Roy pulled his wife against his side. He held her tightly until the elevator stopped. Roy and Joanne followed Dixie to the surgical floor’s waiting area. It wasn’t until all three of them were seated that Dixie continued.

 

“Somehow Johnny was able to get Chris to the side of the squad that wasn’t facing the house. He got on the radio to dispatch and put in a call for the police, then got the bio-phone out and called here.”

 

It wouldn’t be until days later that Roy would think to ask Dixie what she and Kelly Brackett were doing working Rampart’s graveyard shift the night Chris was shot. Dixie told him she’d switched hours with the woman who normally supervised the ER from eleven to seven because that nurse needed the night off, and Doctor Brackett had remained on duty to cover for an ER physician who’d been in a car accident that afternoon. Roy knew that meant Kelly Brackett had a long day, and probably had caught just a couple of hours of sleep on the couch in his office before Dixie summoned him to the base station when Johnny called in.  Roy felt then, that fate had worked in his favor because two of Rampart’s best were on-duty when Chris arrived.

 

“How...” Roy had to stop a moment in order to add strength to his voice.  He gave Joanne’s hand a light squeeze while making eye contact with Dixie.  “How bad is it, Dix?”

 

“He’d lost a lot of blood by the time he got here. It took the police almost two hours to get the situation under control.”

 

“Did they arrest the man?” Joanne asked.

 

“No. He got away.”

 

Roy’s voice rose an octave.  “He got away? How the hell did he get past the police?”

 

“I don’t know, Roy. The details I have are few and sketchy. The only reason I know that much is because some detective by the name of Anders has--”

 

“Anders?” Joanne questioned.  “Troy Anders?”

“I think that’s his first name. He’s talking to Johnny now.  You know him?”

 

Roy nodded. “He assisted Mark Bellman with the investigation a few years ago.”

 

Dixie didn’t need an explanation. She’d met Mark Bellman several times during the course of the investigation regarding the man who’d tried to kidnap Jennifer DeSoto, and who had seriously injured John Gage in the process.

 

“Detective Anders will have a police officer guarding Chris,” Dixie said, though she kept her remaining thoughts to herself.

 

If he makes it through surgery, that is.

 

“What about Johnny?” Joanne asked.  She didn’t see the fleeting scowl that flickered across her husband’s face, but Dixie did. “Will a police officer be guarding him?”

 

“I don’t know. Regardless, I’m sure it’s just a precaution until the police catch the man.”

 

“So they don’t think this guy targeted Chris or Johnny specifically?”

 

“Again, Roy, I don’t know.  I’m sure Johnny can fill you in later.”

 

“He’ll be filling me in, all right,” Roy murmured. “On a lot of things.”

 

The women exchanged glances. It wasn’t like Roy to be bitter, or to hold a grudge against someone for any reason, but right now he sounded like he was warming up to harbor a bitter grudge of some sort.

 

Dixie chalked Roy’s attitude up to worry and stress; assuming it was temporary.  Joanne, on the other hand, had a feeling she knew the source of it, and hoped that no matter what happened to Chris, Roy wouldn’t blame Johnny for things that weren’t his fault.

 

The nurse reached over and placed one hand on top of Roy’s, and the other on top of Joanne’s. 

 

“I need to get back downstairs.” Dixie glanced up at the clock on the wall.  “I’m off duty at seven. I’ll bring some coffee to you then.”

 

Joanne smiled her thanks. “You don’t have to do that.  You’ve been working all night.  I’m sure you’re ready to go home and get some sleep.”

 

“I know I don’t have to do it, but I want to.” Dixie stood.  “I’ll see you both in a little while.”

 

The nurse’s heart constricted at the fear she saw in Roy’s eyes when he said, “If you hear anything about Chris before then...”

 

Dixie nodded.  “I’ll come right up and tell you if I hear anything.”

 

“Thanks, Dix.”

 

“You’re welcome.”  The nurse did her best to give the frightened parents an encouraging smile. Roy’s face was shadowed by the stubble he hadn’t shaved off before leaving the house, and Joanne’s face was pale – a combination of her anxiety for her son, and the fact that she hadn’t had time to put on any makeup.  “Chris is in good hands. You have to keep reminding yourselves that he’s in good hands.”

 

“I know,” Roy acknowledged, thankful that Kelly Brackett was one of the surgeons in the operating room with Chris.  Depending on the location of the bullet in relationship to Chris’s spine, a neurosurgeon might be present as well, but since Dixie hadn’t said anything about Joe Early, Roy assumed Doctor Early hadn’t been on duty when Chris was brought in.

 

For reasons Dixie couldn’t explain, she felt the sudden need to add, “And Johnny did everything he could and then some to keep Chris alive until they arrived here.”

 

Again, there was that fleeting scowl Dixie had noticed earlier. She wondered at the source of it, and then once again chalked it up to worry and stress.  Even if Roy was unjustly placing blame for Chris’s injury at Johnny’s feet, it wouldn’t last long.  Roy and Johnny had been best friends for too many years for anything to come between them. Once everything was sorted out and they’d had a chance to talk, Roy would know that Johnny’d done all he could for Chris in the field.

 

It was just a bad call, Dixie thought with heavy sorrow. A bad, bad call.

 

The nurse headed for the elevator, leaving Roy and Joanne alone in the waiting area.  Joanne laid her head on Roy’s shoulder. She squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to keep her tears from falling.  Roy pulled her against his chest and rested his chin on the top of her head. 

 

“He’ll be okay,” Roy whispered. “Chris’ll be okay, Jo. Doctor Brackett’s with him.  He’ll pull through this.  I know he will.”

 

Joanne didn’t say what she was thinking.  She knew her husband thought highly of Kelly Brackett, and she knew the man had a reputation for being one of the best surgeons in the country.  Still, he wasn’t God.  He was a human being, and that meant Doctor Brackett didn’t possess any special powers, or the ability to breathe life back into her son should he die on the operating table.

 

Within minutes Roy’s nerves would no longer allow him to sit.  He eased Joanne away from him, then stood and started pacing.  His eyes kept flicking to the elevator at the end of the corridor.  At first, Joanne thought he was watching for Doctor Brackett, but when Roy growled, “Where the hell is he?” Joanne’s feeling that things were going to get worse before they got better was validated.

 

The woman asked, “Who?” though she already knew the answer.

 

“Johnny.  Where is he?”

“Dixie told you. He’s with Detective Anders.”

 

Roy’s eyes narrowed.  “I wanna talk to him.”

 

“Detective Anders?”

 

“Him too.  But Johnny first.”

 

“Roy, calm down.  I’m sure Johnny will come talk to us as soon as he can.”

 

“He’d better.”

 

Joanne’s, “He will,” broadcast firm conviction.

 

The woman was grateful when her husband changed the subject.  He pointed to a row of vending machines down the hall.

 

“Want some coffee?”

 

“Yes. Thanks.”

 

Actually, Joanne would have preferred to wait until Dixie brought them coffee from the cafeteria. She had her doubts that vending machine coffee would have much flavor, but the trip down the hall gave Roy something to do, and seemed to take his mind off of Johnny.  That alone made drinking the ebony liquid that tasted like cardboard worth it to the woman.

 

For the next thirty minutes, Roy alternated between sitting beside his wife and pacing the floor. He finished his first cup of coffee, then bought himself a second one.  He asked Joanne if she wanted another cup, but she shook her head.  She wondered how Roy could consider drinking a second cup of the vile liquid.  She’d thrown hers away after consuming only half of it. She realized he probably didn’t even taste it.  Sipping at his coffee while he paced simply gave Roy something to do.

 

When the elevator doors finally slid open, Roy swiveled around. His mouth set in a grim line when he saw who exited, though it wasn’t John Gage walking toward him, but instead, the daughter Roy had told to wait at home.

 

Chapter 4

 

Jennifer had stood in the garage in the gray sweat shorts and red Carson High School t-shirt she’d slept in, watching as her father backed the car onto the street. It was just getting light. Even though the hour was early, the teenager felt the sultry thickness in the air that indicated it would be another day when the temperature rose above ninety.

 

Jennifer’s father must have hit the automatic garage door opener on the car’s dashboard, because the door slowly closed, blocking the girl’s view of the lone automobile speeding toward Rampart General Hospital.

 

Jen turned and ran into the house.  Her parents hadn’t said she should call Wendy, Chris’s girlfriend of almost a year now, but then, they hadn’t said she shouldn’t either.

 

Jennifer and Wendy had grown to be good friends in recent months, and the teen dialed Wendy’s phone number by memory.  Wendy’s father didn’t sound pleased at being woken up at five a.m., but he didn’t give Jennifer a hassle when she identified herself and said she needed to speak to Wendy.

 

“It’s an emergency, Mr. Adams.”

 

“Chris?” the man questioned, logically assuming the reason behind Jennifer’s call given Chris was in training with the fire department. 

 

“Yeah.  My parents just got a call. He’s in the hospital.”

 

When Wendy got on the line, Jennifer conveyed what little she knew. 

 

“I’m going to Rampart,” Chris’s strong willed redheaded girlfriend declared.

 

“Wait! I wanna come with you.  Let me get dressed, get John up and dressed, and give him a bowl of cereal.  Can you pick us up in about forty-five minutes?”

 

“Okay. That’ll give me enough time to shower and dress too.”

 

“See you in a little while.”

 

“Yeah, see you then. And...and Jen?”

“Yeah?”

 

“You’re...you’re not lying to me, are you?”

 

“About what?”

 

“Chris. You’re not keeping something bad from me?”

 

“No, I’m not keeping anything from you.  Mom and Dad said they didn’t know what was wrong, and honestly, I don’t think they did.  They looked...confused and upset.  They ran outta here real fast.”

 

“Then maybe it isn’t anything serious.  Maybe they just got scared when someone from the hospital called.”

 

“Maybe,” Jennifer replied, while keeping the remainder of her thoughts to herself. Her father had too many years of paramedic experience behind him to go rushing to the hospital with the scared look Jennifer had seen on his face for this to be anything less than serious.  Dad would have known what questions to ask.  Besides, the nurses in Rampart’s emergency room knew her father well.  None of them would have called and told him it was important that he come to Rampart right away if the only thing wrong with Chris was a sprained ankle or broken wrist.

 

“Just come over whenever you’re ready. John and I’ll be waiting.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Jennifer said a hasty, “Bye,” and hurried down the hall.  She struggled to wake her six-year-old brother, who was still deep in slumber. 

 

“Come on, John.”  Jennifer tugged on the boy’s arm, urging him to a sitting position in his bed.  “You have to get up.”

 

The boy swatted at his sister’s hand and looked at her through bleary eyes.  “Jenny, leave me ‘lone. I wanna sleep.”

 

John plopped to his pillow while Jennifer threw the covers back. 

 

“You can’t.”

 

“Mom! Mom, Jenny’s makin’ me get up and it’s not even light out!”

 

“Mom’s not here. And before you scream for Dad, he’s not here either.”

 

John squinted and rubbed his eyes when his sister flipped on the ceiling light.

 

“Where are they?”

“They had to go to the hospital. That’s where we’re going too. Wendy’s coming to pick us up in a little while.”

 

“Why’d Mom and Dad go to the hospital?”

 

“Chris...they went to see Chris.”

 

“Chris?” The boy shot to a sitting position. “What happened? Why’s Chris

in the--”

 

Jennifer could hear panic rising in her little brother’s voice and realized she was scaring him by the way she was scampering around his room pulling clean underwear, socks, a shirt, and a pair of shorts from dresser drawers.  Maybe she shouldn’t have woken John.  Maybe she should have called Grandma DeSoto to come stay with him.  But it was too late now. John was awake, and Jennifer had already said too much. She turned around, willing herself to calm down and give her brother a reassuring smile.

 

“Chris is fine.” Jennifer grabbed a pair of John’s tennis shoes from his closet floor. “We just need to go see him.”

 

“Did he get hurt at a fire?”

 

“I don’t know. But he’s fine. Don’t you wanna go see him?”

 

“Okay. Will Uncle Johnny be at the hospital, too?”

 

Jennifer realized that was a good question.  Chris had started his paramedic training in February, and it was only in recent weeks that he’d begun working in the field with his paramedic instructor, John Gage.

 

“I don’t know...probably. Sure, probably,” Jennifer said, recalling the times when her father had been injured on the job, and how Uncle Johnny was always at Rampart with him until forced to return to duty.  “Let’s hurry so you can see Uncle Johnny before he has to go back on-duty.”

 

That was all the incentive John needed to hop out of bed.  Jennifer helped him get dressed, then combed his hair and made him wash his hands and brush his teeth. She ushered him back to his bedroom and grabbed the backpack from John’s closet that he’d used for kindergarten the previous school year.

 

“Here. Put some toys and books in this.”

“Why?”

 

“So you have something to play with if we’re at the hospital for a while.”

 

“But if Uncle Johnny’s gonna be there, I’ll play with him.”

 

“I’m not sure how long he’ll be able to stay if he’s on-duty, so you’d better bring some stuff to play with.”

 

John sighed, but did as his sister told him to.  While he was busy pulling toys and books from shelves, Jennifer went to the kitchen, filled a bowl with Corn Flakes, poured milk over the cereal, and carried the bowl to the table. She poured a glass of orange juice next, then called down the hall, “John, come eat your breakfast while I take a shower and get dressed!”

 

The six-year-old raced from his bedroom with his bulging backpack in his hands. He let it drop to the floor with a “thud” and climbed onto his chair.

 

“I got lots of neat stuff in there, Jenny.”

 

Jennifer gave her brother a distracted smiled. “Good for you.  I’ll be in the shower.  If the bell rings, it’s probably Wendy.  Look out the living room window to make sure it’s her before you open the door.”

 

“I will.”

Jennifer showered and dressed in record time. Her parents would have been astonished at how quickly she could blow-dry her long hair and put on her makeup when the need arose. The girl ran to her bedroom and grabbed a twenty-dollar bill from her sock drawer. She’d gotten a summer job at the Tastee Freeze across the street from her high school.  Most of the money was being saved for college, but Jennifer was allowed to use a portion of each of her paychecks for spending money.  She shoved the money in a pocket of her jeans in case she needed it, and picked up her house key.  That went in her jeans as well.  She didn’t want to keep track of her purse if they were at the hospital all day, so left it setting on her dresser. 

 

The teenager had just put some apples, bananas, and granola bars in a bag for herself, Wendy, and John, when the doorbell rang.  Even though Jennifer was in the kitchen, John jumped off his chair and charged through the living room.  He followed his sister’s instructions from earlier, parted the drapes, and looked out the picture window.

 

“It’s Wendy!”

 

“Okay. Get your backpack.  Hurry!”

 

With beds unmade, wet towels strewn around the bathroom, the curtains and draperies still shut, and John’s cereal bowl and juice glass setting on the table, Jennifer left the house with her little brother.  She made sure the front door was locked behind her, then hurried John to Wendy’s Chevy Chevelle.

 

Jennifer helped John climb in the back of the two-door vehicle. “Put your seatbelt on,” she ordered while slipping into the front passenger seat.

 

Wendy looked over her shoulder to check for traffic before backing the car onto the desolate street.  She glanced at Jennifer right before she put the car into drive and whispered, “I hope he’s okay, Jenny.”

 

Jennifer turned around to see John playing with a Transformer he’d pulled from his backpack. She reached across the console and squeezed Wendy’s hand.

 

“I do too,” the teenager whispered back as tears welled up in her eyes. “I know Chris and I still fight sometimes, but oh God, Wendy, I really hope he’s okay.”

 

 

Chapter 5

 

Roy met the little entourage coming toward him halfway between the elevator and waiting area. 

 

“What’re you doing here?”

 

“Dad, I’m sorry, but I...” Jennifer’s eyes flicked to Wendy, who nodded her willingness to get in trouble right along with Jen.  “We had to come.  We had to know what’s happening with Chris.”

 

“I wanna see Chris.”  John looked around Roy’s body. “And where’s Uncle Johnny? I wanna see him, too.”

 

So do I, Roy thought, before focusing on his daughter again.  He knew he should send Jennifer right back home, and then ground her for disobeying him, but the last thing he wanted was an angry scene with his headstrong middle child.  Besides, he couldn’t fault Jennifer for her concern. This was one of those moments when a parent felt good about the job he’d done raising his kids. Roy was pleased to see that Jennifer’s family was the number one priority in her life, and that her worry for her older brother was so great she’d organized this rushed trip to Rampart.

 

“Daddy, I said I wanna see Chris. And do you know where Uncle Johnny is?”

 

Roy looked down at his youngest. He cupped a hand against the side of the boy’s face.  “We can’t see Chris right now.”

 

“Then what about Uncle Johnny?”

 

“He’s talking with the...” Roy stopped himself from saying the word police, fearing that might frighten John and make him conclude something bad had happened to Chris. “He has to talk to someone for a few minutes. Maybe we’ll see him later.”

 

Joanne joined her family and immediately began asking all the questions a mother does.  She wanted to know if Jennifer had remembered to lock the house, and if John had eaten breakfast, and if the girls had eaten breakfast.  When she was told yes to her question about John, and no to her question regarding Jennifer and Wendy, Joanne reached in her purse and pulled out her wallet.

 

“You girls go down to the cafeteria and get yourselves something to eat.”

 

Jennifer held up the paper bag she was carrying. “I brought some snacks.  We can eat here for now.  We’ll go to the cafeteria later – after we know more about Chris.”

 

“It might be a while before we hear anything.”

 

“I know, but we’ll wait.”

 

Wendy nodded. “I’d rather wait up here, Mrs. DeSoto. A nurse Jennifer talked to told us this is where the doctor would come when the surgery is over.”

 

Joanne assumed Jennifer had spoken with Dixie, and that it was Dixie who had directed the girls to the surgical floor.

 

Roy pointed toward the vending machines while handing his daughter several one-dollar bills. “Get yourselves some juice at least.  And get a bottle of juice for John.”

 

“Chocolate milk.”

 

Roy glanced down at his son. “No juice?”

 

“Jenny already made me drink orange juice at home.  I want chocolate milk.”

 

“All right. Chocolate milk it is then.”

 

While the girls made their selections from the vending machine, Roy and Joanne took John to the waiting area.  Joanne helped him get his backpack off his shoulders, and settled him next to her on the couch.

 

“What’s in your backpack?”

 

“Toys and books. Jenny said I should bring ‘em with me.”

 

“It sounds like Jennifer had some good ideas this morning,” Joanne said. “Why don’t you open your pack and show me what you brought.”

 

Joanne’s ploy to distract John about any concerns he held for Chris worked.  Jennifer and Wendy arrived in the waiting area a few minutes later. Each one of them carried a bottle of orange juice. Jennifer handed a carton of chocolate milk to her brother.  The teenager sat in a chair and opened the bag containing the food. She chose a banana, while Wendy took a granola bar.  Roy shook his head when Jennifer held the bag out to him. She offered it to her mother next, who also took an apple.

 

“Daddy, are you sure you don’t want anything?”

 

Roy smiled at the form of address Jennifer chose to use. She hadn’t called him “Daddy” since she was ten, unless she was trying to get him to cave into a request for a later curfew, or a few more minutes on the phone with a girlfriend. 

 

“No, honey, I don’t want anything. Thanks.”

 

“But you have to eat.”

 

“I will later.  After I’ve talked to Doctor Brackett.”

 

Roy leaned forward in his chair and gave Jennifer’s left knee a reassuring pat.  He hated the haunted look that shadowed her eyes.  He knew it was a reflection of what she saw in his own eyes. He glanced at John.  The boy was absorbed with the Transformers he’d brought from home, appearing not to have a care in the world.

 

It’s so much easier when they’re little.  When they’re six, you don’t have to worry about your son being shot, and your daughter being scared over the possibility that her big brother might die.

 

Time dragged for Roy that morning.  When he wasn’t staring at the clock, or watching the elevator doors, he was pacing. People who’d heard the news about Chris began to gather with the DeSotos.

 

Dixie joined them at seven-thirty with fresh coffee as promised, and Wendy’s parents arrived shortly after that with a box of doughnuts. Wendy had gone to the bank of pay phones by the vending machines and called Chris’s best friend, Dean Cheveron.  Dean rushed off the elevator at eight-thirty, and by nine, some of the men who were under Roy’s command at Station 26 had arrived. Word about the shooting spread through the department, as Roy knew it would. Whether someone who had been at the scene of the shooting had called one of Roy’s men at home, or whether the shooting made the morning news, Roy wasn’t certain, but either was a possibility.

 

As the morning progressed, more fire department personnel arrived, from off-duty station captains Roy was personal friends with, to Ronald Evans, the chief of the department.  Some of the people, like the men under Roy’s command, remained with the DeSotos throughout the long morning, while others, like Chief Evans, came by for a few minutes to offer encouraging words, then left to go to work, or to proceed with whatever plans might have been made for a day off duty. However, the one fireman Roy wanted to see the most didn’t appear.

 

“Where is he?” Roy muttered to Joanne when he paused in his pacing and sat down next to his wife on the sofa. John was curled up beside his mother sleeping soundly, his toys in an abandoned heap on the floor. 

 

“Where is who?”

 

Roy kept his voice low so those in attendance didn’t overhear him.  “Johnny.”

 

Joanne’s voice was equally as quiet.  It helped that the firemen gathered with them were talking shop; their deep voices easily drowning out any other conversations around them.

 

“He’s probably still talking to the police.”

Roy looked at the clock. It was now ten a.m. Over five hours had passed since Johnny arrived at Rampart with Chris.

 

“No. Not this long.  It wouldn’t take this long. He should be here by now. Why isn’t he here?  Why won’t he come talk to me?” 

 

Roy’s lips formed a grim line.  Joanne watched as he ran a hand through his thinning hair.

 

The woman glanced down at John to make sure he was still sleeping, before returning her attention to her husband.

 

“Roy,” she said quietly, huddling closer to the man.  “Don’t you dare think it.”

 

“Think what?”

 

“That this is Johnny’s fault.”

 

“He’s avoiding me.”

 

“You don’t know that for sure.”

 

“What else would it be? And before you say it, he’s not still with Anders.  There’s no way Johnny would be giving the man a statement for five hours.”

 

“Why don’t you just wait until you’ve spoken with Johnny before jumping to conclusions.”

 

“I’d like to speak to him, but if you haven’t noticed, he’s no where to be found.”

 

“You haven’t gone to look for him.”

 

“I shouldn’t have to. He should be here. If not for me, then for Christopher.”

 

Before Joanne could assure her husband that regardless of what was keeping John Gage away from the surgical floor both Roy and Chris were at the forefront of his thoughts, Roy stood and starting pacing again.  There was a tight stiffness to his movements that broadcast his anger to Joanne. She doubted anyone else present picked up on it.  Roy didn’t have a short temper. It was rare that anyone who worked with him, or knew him casually like Wendy’s parents did, had ever seen him reach his boiling point.  She’d seen that side of him a few times; the kids had seen it on occasion if they pushed him too far with bad behavior, and Joanne knew Johnny had witnessed that aspect of Roy’s personality now and then as well, but that made sense.  Johnny was Roy’s best friend, so Roy’s comfort level with the man was par to Roy’s comfort level with his own family. 

 

Johnny, I don’t know whether to hope you walk off that elevator soon, or whether to hope you stay away until after Doctor Brackett has spoken to us about Chris, and Roy’s had a chance to work through all this day will bring us.

 

Joanne knew the source behind her husband’s anger, and while she thought Roy was wrong to blame Johnny for decisions Chris had made during the past ten months, she also knew Roy needed to hold someone responsible. Since the gunman was nameless, faceless, and still at large, John Gage was the focus of a distraught father’s fury over what had happened to his son.

 

When John woke up, Joanne’s thoughts were drawn away from her husband and Johnny.  The first thing the boy said was, “Can I see Chris now?”

 

Joanne smoothed John’s auburn bangs into place with her fingers and gave the boy a gentle smile.

 

“Not yet.”

 

“Then when?”

 

“I don’t know, sweetheart.  Maybe later.”

 

The boy looked around.  He saw a lot of familiar faces, but he didn’t spot John Gage amongst the men gathered with them.

 

“Where’s Uncle Johnny?”

“He’s...he’s busy right now.”

 

“Doing what?”

“Talking to someone.”

 

“But Dad said Uncle Johnny was talking to someone too, and that was hours ago.  Isn’t he done talking yet?”

“Maybe he’ll be done soon.”

 

“How soon?”

 

“I’m not sure, John.”  Joanne pulled a coloring book and crayons out of John’s backpack. “Here. How about coloring a picture for Chris?”

 

“Okay.”

 

Joanne watched John color for a moment, then looked over at the grouping of chairs Jennifer had pulled into a semi-circle for herself, Wendy, Wendy’s parents, and Dixie.

 

“Jennifer, keep an eye on John for me, please.”

 

“Sure. Where’re you going?”

 

“To call Grandma DeSoto. I want you to take John to her house.”

 

Roy had spoken to his mother earlier in the day to tell her about Chris before she heard news reports about the shooting. At that time, Roy persuaded her not to drive to Rampart during morning rush hour. Given her age and everything on Roy’s mind, he didn’t need to be worrying about her safety too. When his mother asked if there was any way she could be of help, Roy had replied, “Would you mind watching John if one of us drops him off later?  Jennifer brought him here when she came with Wendy, but it’s gonna be a long day for everyone, and way too long for a six year old.”

 

“You know I don’t mind.  Bring him over whenever you want to. I’ll just be sitting by the phone waiting for you to call me about Chris.  If John’s here, he’ll take my mind off my worries.”

 

Roy smiled a little then. “I’m sure he will. Thanks, Mom. We’ll keep him here for a while yet, but you’ll probably see him in a few hours.”

 

“I’ll look forward to it.”

 

Not having been privy to his father’s conversation with his grandmother, John now protested what he’d just overheard his mom say.

 

“But I don’t wanna go ta’ Grandma’s.  I wanna stay here and see Chris and Uncle Johnny.”

 

“You’ll be able to see Chris and Uncle Johnny later.  Grandma’s sitting home all by herself.  Don’t you think she’d like you to come over and keep her company?”

John shrugged. “I dunno.”

 

“Well, I think she would.  Besides, Daddy and I would feel so much better if you’re there with Grandma so she doesn’t get lonely.”

 

“Is that an important job?”

 

Joanne tweaked her son’s nose.  “Yep. A very important job.”

 

“Well...okay, I’ll go, just as long as I get to come back later ‘n see Chris ‘n Uncle...”

 

Joanne didn’t hear the rest of her son’s sentence. Her eyes were drawn to the man walking toward them.  Kelly Brackett was wearing a pair of tan dress slacks and a white shirt, though his tie was askew as if he’d hastily put it on, his top collar button open, and his hair matted against his forehead as a result of the hours it had spent beneath a surgical cap.

 

Roy rushed to meet the doctor. “How is he? Chris...did he...is he still...did he--”
 

“He made it through surgery, Roy.”  Brackett placed a hand on Roy’s back. “Now come on, let's go to the waiting area where I can talk to everyone at once. It looks like Chris has a number of people here who are worried about him.”

 

Wendy’s father stood, offering his chair to the physician.  Brackett nodded his thanks, then waited until Roy sat down next to Joanne.  Brackett instinctively felt everyone leaning forward, Chris’s family and friends eager to hear what he had to say. Kel’s eyes flicked to Dixie, who remained seated in a chair next to Jennifer. Roy didn’t take that silent communication as a good sign.

            It had been a long morning filled with anxiety and unanswered questions. Roy’s patience, which was usually vast and often times seemingly endless to outside observers, was now non-existent.  He clasped Joanne’s hand and prompted the physician to begin by asking, “Doctor Brackett. Christopher?  How is he?”

 

No one heard the deep internal breath Kelly Brackett took, but everyone in attendance could sense the doctor doing so before he began speaking.  The physician focused his gaze on Roy and Joanne, but spoke loud enough for all of Chris’s friends and family to hear.

            “He’s in serious condition, Roy. Because of the length of time it took the police to get Chris and Johnny out of that situation, Chris lost a lot of blood before he got here. Johnny did an outstanding job of keeping him alive, but nonetheless, Chris was deep in shock when they arrived. We gave him five units of blood before we took him into surgery, and four more while he was on the operating table. The precarious location of the bullet meant the surgery was an extremely delicate and time consuming procedure.”

“But he'll live?” Wendy asked, while clinging to Jennifer's hand. “He'll pull through?”

            Brackett’s eyes flicked to Wendy.  He didn’t know who she was, but just by reading the expression on her face the doctor concluded this young lady and Chris meant something special to one another.

 

“I can't make any promises at this time,” Brackett stated with his usual caution. “However, he's young and he's strong. I believe, barring unforeseen complications, that yes, Chris will pull through.”

            “But there's something you're not telling us,” Joanne stated while studying the doctor's face. “There's something else, isn't there?”

Roy knew there was something else, too. He'd known Kelly Brackett too long not to detect the sorrow radiating from the man's eyes.

 

A soft “clump clump clump” came from the hall behind Roy.  Eyes flicked in that direction, but Roy didn’t turn around.  He recognized the sound. The person approaching was wearing thick-soled firemen’s boots. The kind you pulled on with your bunker pants if you were summoned out of the station in the middle of the night, like Chris and Johnny had been. 

 

Unlike her husband, Joanne turned slightly and glanced up.  Johnny’s turnout coat hung open. The way he was walking – his shoulders slumped with fatigue and defeat – made the coat appear far too baggy for his lean frame.  Dried blood was splattered in random streaks across the front of the coat, and two round circles of dried blood stained the knees of Johnny’s bunker pants. Joanne could clearly picture him kneeling beside her son, trying desperately to keep him alive until the police could get the situation under control.

 

Johnny’s eyes focused on the floor tiles as he stopped a few feet behind the couch. If he could sense Joanne trying to make eye contact with him, he ignored her. Johnny remained on the edge of the group, as though he now classified himself as an outsider.  Not even John’s wave and sunny invitation of, “Come sit by me, Uncle Johnny!” enticed the man to join the people gathered in a tight group around Kelly Brackett.

 

“What else, Doc?” Roy asked in a voice barely above a whisper. “What else is wrong with my son?”

             Brackett's eyes took in the upset parents, then traveled briefly to the pale face of John Gage. He took a deep breath before speaking to these three people who loved Chris so much.

            “I'm sorry, Roy. Joanne. If I could have done more, I would have. I promise you that.”

            “Done more about what?” Roy asked.

            “The bullet damaged Chris's spine. We already know he's suffered paralysis to his lower extremities.”

           Roy swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. “Permanent?”

           “Yes, Roy. It's permanent.”

 

Roy squeezed his eyes shut.  He heard Wendy’s choked sobs, and briefly wondered if she’d stick by Chris through this. The young couple had grown serious about one another in recent months.  Serious enough that Joanne just said the other day she suspected Chris would give Wendy an engagement ring for Christmas.

 

Now she won’t want Chris, and who can blame her? She’s just nineteen. No girl that age is going to saddle herself with a disabled husband. With a husband who can’t work, and who’ll have to be taken care of by his wife both financially and physically. Oh God, who knows if he’ll even be able to have kids. Enjoy a normal sex life.  Oh God, Chris.  God. How much has been taken from you, son?  How much have you lost?

 

The murmur of voices ran together in Roy’s ears.  He heard Joanne’s gasp, and at first thought she was reacting to Brackett’s words, but when she said, “Roy...my hand,” he realized he was hurting her and released his grip. 

 

Rage burned within Roy. His hands curled into fists; his eyes narrowed; his jaw clenched. At that moment, he hated the man who had shot Chris, hated the police for taking so long to get the situation under control, but most of all, he hated John Gage.

 

Roy flew off the couch. He rounded the piece of furniture, not realizing he jostled John’s legs in his haste.

 

“You bastard!”

 

 Roy grabbed the front of Johnny’s turnout coat with his left hand. With his right, he landed a punch to the man’s jaw.

 

“You did this to him, you bastard!  It’s your fault my son will never live a normal life. He’s nineteen years old, Johnny! He’s just a kid!”

 

Roy hit Johnny again, and then again.  He took no notice of the fact that Johnny wasn’t defending himself.  He shook off the hands that tried to pull him away from Johnny and ignored the shouts of “Roy, stop it!” that belonged to Kelly Brackett, Joanne, and Dixie, and then Jennifer’s, “Dad, no! Don’t!” followed by John’s terrified cries.

 

“Daddy! Daddy, stop it!  Daddy, don’t! Stop! Stop it, Daddy!  You’re hurting Uncle Johnny!  Daddy, stop!”

 

Roy’s fists kept flying.  He pummeled Johnny’s face, chest, and shoulders. 

”If you hadn't interfered, if you hadn't encouraged him to drop out of school, this would have never happened! You knew how much I wanted him to finish college! You of all people knew how important that was to me! He should have been in class today! He should have walking around campus instead of answering a call in the middle of the night! It shouldn't be Chris who's laying there paralyzed, it should be you! Do  you hear me, Gage? It should be you! Get outta here!  Just get the hell out! Go! Get outta my sight!”

 

Kelly Bracket and three of Roy’s men finally managed to yank Roy off the paramedic instructor.  As soon as Roy’s grip on Johnny’s turnout coat released, Johnny’s eyes rolled back in his head and he crumpled.  Whether it was reflex, or the remaining remnants of a long and close friendship, Roy was the person who reached out and caught the man before he hit the floor.

 

Chaos prevailed for the next few seconds.  Brackett spotted an orderly at the end of the corridor pushing an empty gurney.

 

“Hey you! Get that gurney over here!”

 

Roy stood and stepped back when Doctor Brackett knelt beside Johnny. The physician placed his fingers at the pulse point of Johnny’s throat, then used a thumb to lift Johnny’s right eyelid, followed by his left.   

 

Roy knew it wasn’t like the doctor not to say what he was thinking.  Under normal circumstances, Brackett would be shouting at Roy, asking him what the hell this was all about. But Brackett didn’t shout, because he knew what it was all about.  Instead, the brief gaze Brackett landed on Roy as he helped the orderly and Roy’s men lift Johnny to the gurney was filled with sympathy.  The gaze the doctor cast upon Johnny as the gurney was rushed toward the elevator was also sympathetic, clearly broadcasting the man’s feeling that any way you looked at it, this was a no-win situation for the two men who had for so long been best friends.

 

Chapter 6

 

After the elevator doors closed, an uncomfortable silence descended over the waiting area.  No one knew where to look or what to say.  The only sounds were John’s sobs and the soft murmur of Joanne’s voice as she comforted the boy.  She had her son’s head pulled against her chest while staring at her husband with a look that said, “How could you have done that?” but Roy refused to make eye contact with her, or with anyone else.

 

Roy’s shoulder was briefly squeezed by one of his men.  Roy wasn’t certain if the man was communicating that he didn’t blame Roy for how he felt toward John Gage, or if he was just letting Roy know that he understood things were overwhelming right now, and that when devastating news is delivered we sometimes do things in the heat of the moment we wouldn’t normally do otherwise.  Either way, it didn’t matter to Roy.  If someone told Chief Evans about Roy’s assault on Johnny, then so be it.  Roy would take whatever disciplinary action the chief deemed necessary without making any excuses, or offering any apologies to anyone...John Gage included.

 

It was Dixie McCall who salvaged the situation. Her gaze took in everyone but Roy and Joanne.

 

“Chris won’t be able to have visitors today other than immediate family.  All of you are welcome to stay here with Roy and Joanne if you’d like, but since it’s lunch time, why don’t you take a break and get something to eat.”  Dixie’s gaze shifted to Roy and Joanne. “I’m sure Chris is still in recovery. I’ll go find out how long it’ll be before you can see him.”

 

Roy’s quiet, “Thanks, Dix,” was echoed by Joanne’s, “Thank you, Dixie,” as the nurse headed for a pair of swinging doors at the end of the corridor.

 

Dixie provided everyone with the excuses they needed to give Roy and Joanne some private time.  One by one, Roy’s men told him and Joanne goodbye, and then told Roy to call them if he needed them for any reason. Wendy’s parents suggested they take Wendy, Jennifer, and John out to lunch.

 

Glenda Adams addressed Joanne.  “If you’d like us to drop John off at your mother-in-law’s after lunch we’d be happy too.”

 

With her arms still wrapped around her youngest son, Joanne nodded. “Thank you.”  She encouraged John to untangle his arms from her waist, and then spoke to him quietly about picking up his toys, and going to eat lunch with Jennifer and Wendy, and then going to Grandma’s house afterwards.  Joanne expected the boy to protest. When he didn’t, she knew it was a reflection of how upset John was over what he’d just witnessed.

 

While Joanne helped John put his toys in his backpack, Dean approached Roy, who still stood by himself a few feet beyond the waiting area.

 

“I’m gonna head to work.  I switched shifts with someone so I could come here. I have to punch in at three, so by the time I get something to eat and--”

 

Roy nodded. “Thanks for coming by. It’ll mean a lot to Chris.”

 

“Tell Chris I’ll come see him just as soon as the doctor says he can have visitors.”

 

“I will.”

 

Roy held out his right hand to Chris’s friend. They shook, and then Roy took his left hand, placed it on top of Dean’s, and squeezed.

 

“You’ve been a good friend to Chris for a lotta years.  Joanne and I appreciate that.  Right now...” Roy had to pause in order to speak past the lump in his throat.  “Right now he’s going to need all his friends to help him through this.”

 

“I’ll be here for him,” Dean promised. “It’s a given.”

 

“Thanks, Dean. Chris is a lucky man.” Roy’s face darkened as he broke his grip with Dean. “Take it from me. Good friends are hard to come by these days.”

 

Roy watched Dean walk away and enter the elevator. He recalled the first time he’d met the young man.  He’d been off-duty, and walked to the neighborhood grade school to pick up Chris.  Dean and Chris had run out of the building together.  When Chris spotted Roy, he’d grabbed Dean by the arm and said, “Come on and meet my dad.  He’s a fireman!”

 

Even halfway across the playground, Roy could see the sparkle of excitement in Dean’s blue eyes.

 

“Wow! Your dad’s a real live fireman?  You mean it?”

 

“Yep.”

 

The slight smile that memory brought to Roy’s lips was gone as quickly as it had come.  The little boy who had run to greet him that day would never run again. Chris was just nineteen years old, and thanks to John Gage, he’d spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair.

 

Roy turned when Gilbert Adams came up beside him. Wendy had inherited her flaming red hair and freckles from her father.

 

“Roy, don’t worry about a thing. We’ll get the kids fed, and then take John to your mother’s.”

 

“Don’t you need to get to work?”

 

The man smiled. “Hey, I’m the owner of the company, remember? I don’t have to answer to anyone when something comes up that keeps me out of the office for the day.”

 

“Thanks, Gil. I really appreciate this.”  Roy reached for his wallet. “Let me give you money for lunch.”

 

“No, no. It’s on us.”

 

“Gil--”

 

“I won’t have it any other way.”

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“Positive.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

Gil patted Roy on the shoulder. He had a son two years older than Chris, who was in the Army.  Though he had no idea what had transpired between Roy and the dark headed man Roy punched, he could easily put himself in the fire captain’s place.  If Gil knew someone was to blame for paralyzing his son, he’d beat the crap out of the guy, just like Roy had done to that man he apparently blamed for the choices Chris made regarding his career.

 

“You hang in there.  If there’s anything Glenda and I can do, from watching John for a few hours when you’re visiting Chris, to doing some grocery shopping, to mowing the lawn, don’t hesitate to ask.”

 

Roy nodded. Generous offers like this made it hard to speak.

 

“Thanks.”

 

Gil stepped aside as Joanne approached holding John’s hand. 

 

“Say goodbye to Daddy.”

 

John glanced up at Roy, then dropped his gaze to the floor. 

 

“John,” Joanne urged, “say goodbye to Daddy.  We won’t see you until later this evening.”

 

When John still wouldn’t say anything, and still refused to look at Roy, the captain crouched down so he was face to face with his son. 

 

“John?”

 

The boy’s eyes didn’t lift.

 

Roy bent his head further. “John? Aren’t you gonna say goodbye to your ole’ dad?”

 

Several lengthy seconds passed before John finally gave Roy a somber gaze through his eyelashes.

 

“Why’d ya’ do it?”

 

“Do what?”

 

“Why’d ya’ hit Uncle Johnny?”

 

Roy glanced up at Joanne, but by the firm set of her jaw he knew she wasn’t going to give him any help.  The man shifted his attention back to his son.

 

“It’s...Son, it’s one of those adult things you’ll understand when you’re older.”

 

“I already understand.  I don’t haf ta’ be older.  You hit Uncle Johnny. You hurt him.  I understand that real good.”

 

The boy gave his father a final glare, then turned on his heel and marched away.

 

Roy held an arm out.  “John. John, come here--”

 

Joanne’s words were firm in the knowledge that as John’s mother, she knew what was best for him at this moment.

 

“Leave him be, Roy.” 

 

Roy stood. Whatever he was thinking, he didn’t reveal. He watched John get on the elevator with Jennifer, Wendy, and Wendy’s parents.  Joanne detected a note of remorse around her husband’s eyes.  Because she and Roy were finally alone, things could now be said that couldn’t be said earlier.

 

“When the time is right, you can tell him you’re sorry, you know.”

 

“I will.”

 

Joanne couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice. “You will?”

 

“Yeah. I’ll talk to John.  I’ll make him understand what happened.  I’ll make him understand that sometimes things between two friend...people...that sometimes things between two people change.”

 

“I didn’t mean John. I meant Johnny. If you start by apologizing to him, then everything else will fall into place with John.”

 

“I’m not apologizing to Johnny.”

 

“Roy--”

 

“Listen, Joanne, it’s Johnny who should be apologizing to us, not the other way around. And even if he does, it makes no difference. Chris will never walk again.  As far as I’m concerned, that means any ties we once had with John Gage are now broken.”

 

“Roy, you’re being unreasonable. You haven’t even talked to Chris yet.”

 

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

 

“Don’t you think you should hear how he feels about all of this before you go making decisions that involve the whole family?”

 

“How do you think he’s gonna feel?  He can’t walk for God’s sake.  He’s nineteen years old and he can’t walk. He’ll never walk again. Don’t you get that?”

 

Water sprang to Joanne’s eyes. The tears she’d been holding back so she could be strong for Jennifer and John now broke free.

 

“Of course I get it!  I’m Chris’s mother!  Yes, Roy, I get it!  I understand that my son will never walk again! He’ll never stand.  He’ll never walk.  He’ll never run. I don’t know if he’ll be able to provide for a family, or if he’ll even be able to have a family. I get it, Roy!  I get it!  Oh God, I wish I didn’t, but I do.”

 

Roy reached out and pulled his wife to his chest. She sobbed into his shirt; finally releasing the grief only a mother can have for the child she’d brought into the world whose life was so tragically changed in the mere seconds it took a man to aim his gun and pull the trigger.

 

“Why Chris?” Joanne sobbed. “Why Chris? Why our boy?”

 

Roy ran a hand through his wife’s hair. “I don’t know. I don’t know.  If it hadn’t been for Johnny--”

 

Joanne rubbed her head back and forth, silently saying no.

 

“Don’t. It wasn’t Johnny’s fault.  Don’t blame him.”

 

Roy let the subject drop for the time being.  Right now, his wife needed his comfort, and he knew in the days to come that he and Joanne would have to be a united front for Chris’s sake, as opposed to a divided one. 

 

 

Part 2